Jul. 29th, 2018

"Beauty," Newt P, Aiden B, Steve M

[Locked to "Beauty"][He doesn't bother with anon.] Still interested in that coffee?

[Locked to Newt P][A few days after the moon. Un-anoning.] Didn't kill me. Thank you for that.

[Aloud: Aiden B][In his study. No one's dying today, so he's not sure if anything will come from it. But old Mrs. Bailey, on the first floor, is failing rapidly. Might be enough. Aloud:] Need to find a less morbid way to talk to you, Aiden.

[Later:][Outside Vade: Atticus/Steve]The moon had been a quiet one. Still had the same aches and pains that always came after, but at least he hadn't tried to bite his own leg off. Was left wondering what the pack did, but it was idle thought. Had never really belonged to the pack, so not spending the moon with them wasn't really distressing to Atticus. Had found an abandoned building by the docks and holed up there. Might have been a bad idea, staying in the city for the moon, but had been counting on the potion to work, and it had. Wasn't sure if he'd keep using it, but at least there was the option now. Was glad of the option. Choice, Atticus found, was heady stuff.

Now, was waiting outside Vade. Was under-dressed, and he looked worse for wear, but figured Steve would forgive him. Had only been back to Repose a few times over the past weeks, and that was to pick up books from his study. Was hard for an old man, living out of a duffel bag.

I'm sorry to hear that you know what it's like to come out the other end of these things worse for wear. It's certainly a refreshing change to end up with a little more beauty in each sunny day. (And yes, I'll still take that polaroid.)

I think one of the hundred definitions of love might have to do with helping us forget the ways in which we're cracked and held together with tape. Your person, I hope she earns your love in that great and beautiful way. We can take that as confirmation that we're both still worth loving. And yes, my love told me I had beautiful eyes. Sometimes I wish I had more readily believed him while he was still with me.

You want to know why I'm angry, my dear Robbins? Well, that might take some time to answer while I figure it out for myself.

- Baskin

(Ps. I'll keep the dogs away, then. There's also a stray kitten I've been feeding, a tiny little scrap of a thing. Will you help me think of a name for her?)

[Plot: Postcards]

[Beginning Friday morning, any postcards sent to pseudonyms are returned to sender. The post office has no recollection of who belongs to any of the pseudonyms, and inquiries indicate they never delivered any postcards to begin with. However, locks on the town journal seem to work with the pseudonyms, which is a fluke discovered by a post office worker and quickly spread around town like summer wildfires.

There is, of course, no sign of the writer who wrought any of this correspondence chaos, and everything returns to what counts as normal for Repose.]